Flashback of night they arrived here
The air in Myra's room was thick with tension as she knelt before her mother's photograph, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.
"Ma," she whispered, her fingers tracing the edges of the photo, "I can't trust him. I know what I saw. He's with her—he's helping her. i heard him that day on the phone ?"
Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes. "They all think he's some kind of savior, but I know better. He's just like her. Cruel. Manipulative. And now I'm supposed to marry him?"
She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I can't tell anyone. No one would believe me. But you would, Ma. You'd know. You'd understand."
Unbeknownst to her, Ranvijay stood just outside, his hand resting on the partially open door. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but her voice had drawn him in. Her words hit like a blow to his chest—she thought he was aligned with her stepmother.
She had no idea that he was working against the woman who had caused Myra so much pain. He had carefully built this facade, enduring her hatred silently to protect her from the shadows. But now, hearing the raw pain in her voice, he realized he couldn't stay silent any longer—not entirely.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and Myra froze, her breath catching as Ranvijay stepped inside. Her heart thudded in her chest as she hastily wiped her tears, hiding the photograph behind her.
"Ranvijay," she said, her voice sharper than intended. "What are you doing here?"
He stepped forward, his expression calm, though his dark eyes seemed to hold a glimmer of something unreadable. "I was passing by," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe. "I couldn't help but notice you seemed upset."
Myra stiffened, her mind racing. Did he hear? How much did he know?
"I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice clipped. "You shouldn't be here."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Is that any way to talk to the man you're about to marry?" he teased lightly, though his tone carried an undercurrent she couldn't quite place.
Her fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to stay calm. "We're not married yet," she shot back. "And if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be alone."
Ranvijay didn't move. Instead, he took a slow step forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "You're always alone, Myra," he said, his voice quieter now. "You never let anyone in."
Her breath hitched, his words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. "Maybe because I don't trust anyone," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Not even me?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his tone almost playful.
She flinched inwardly, her stomach churning. If he knew what she thought, he wasn't letting on. "Especially not you," she replied sharply, lifting her chin defiantly.
Ranvijay smirked, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or frustration. "Fair enough," he said smoothly. "Hate me all you want. But let me make one thing clear."
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, and Myra instinctively stepped back, her pulse quickening.
"No matter what you think of me," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "you'll never escape me. Not even the gods could take you away from me."
Her eyes widened, her heart pounding as his words sank in.
"Hate me," he repeated, his gaze unwavering. "Fight me. Distrust me. But at the end of the day, you'll end up in my arms. That's where you belong."
And just like that, he stepped back, his smirk softening into something gentler. "I'll see you at the haldi," he said, turning to leave.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Myra's knees felt weak, her mind spinning. Did he know? Was he taunting her? Or was he hiding something deeper behind that calm facade? She clutched her mother's photograph tighter, her resolve hardening.
If he thought he could control her, he was wrong. She wouldn't fall for his games—not this time.